Claimed

by Portia Moore

  When I’ve tried everything on, Roni comes into the dressing room with me and picks out a handful of items. “These are the ones I think looked best,” she tells me firmly. “Do you like these?”

  “Sure,” I tell her. I see at least a couple of pieces that I liked a lot—the frayed skirt and blue minidress among them—and the rest I just let her choose. She’s the one reinventing me, after all.

  “Alright then.” Without a word, she whips a metal clampy thing out of her large purse, and I watch in shock as she starts to cut the censor tags out of the clothing. She shoves them behind the bench in the dressing room and begins to fold up the clothes into tiny rolls, burying them beneath the wallet and laptop that she has in her purse so they can’t be seen. She throws some jewelry in there, too—hoop earrings and a cuff bracelet—and throws it over her shoulder. “Alright, come on,” she says. “And act normal.”

  It’s hard to do, knowing there’s a few hundred dollars of clothing stuffed in Roni’s purse. But to look at her, you’d never be able to tell. She waltzes through the store like nothing is going on. She even picks up one blouse and buys it.

  When we’re outside, Roni grins at me. “See? Easy as pie. Let’s go drop this stuff off at the car, and then we’ll hit a couple resale stores.”

  We do exactly that. We go to three more stores, and Roni uses me as a decoy while she snags a couple of items. Before I know it, we’re back in the car, and Roni empties her purse into the trunk before we get inside.

  “I’ll wait a few days to resell them,” she says. “But when I do, I’ll give you a cut since you helped me.”

  My instinct is to protest, but the words die on my lips when Roni says, “It’ll probably be about sixty bucks. Your cut. Is that okay?”

  Sixty dollars is our water bill. I saw it on the table the other day. Sixty dollars is food. It’s a third of our electric bill.

  “Yeah,” I tell her, forcing a smile. “I’m down to help anytime.”

  Roni isn’t done with me after the “shopping” trip. She takes me to a salon in town, where she says one of her friends works, and tells me that she has it covered. While I am sitting in the chair, I see Roni slip her friend a small plastic bag, and it dawns on me exactly how Roni is “paying” for it.

  I should get up, I know it. I should stop hanging out with Roni. I’m just going to get sucked in deeper and deeper.

  But I don’t want to get up. I’ve never had new clothes, or jewelry, or a cool haircut. I’ve lived my entire life dirt poor, giving up everything I want because I have to for my family to make it. So what if Roni is trading pot or some other drugs so I can get a haircut? I’m not selling them. It’s fine.

  And by the time her friend is finished, I forgot all about it. She cut my hair to just below my shoulders, getting rid of plenty of split ends, and texturized and layered it until it looked thicker and shinier. She put highlights in it, too. Suddenly my plain blonde looks bright and dimensional, and my brown eyes look glowy, my face a slender oval in the frame of my new haircut.

  I felt pretty. Sexy, even. Like Roni.

  When I come to the clubhouse a couple of days later with Roni, I can’t wait to see Zach.

  And the moment he looks at me, his eyes widen, and any doubts I had about all of it are gone. Jade notices it too, and the jealousy on her face when she catches him looking at me is even more satisfying. It’s not just them, it’s all of the guys, the ones who never glance at me with more than mild interest.

  I picked the aqua blue dress, and even though I used to never wear earrings in the second piercings I have, I put smaller hoops in them, behind the large hoops that Roni snagged for me. I even styled my hair this morning, and I know I look different than what Zach is used to seeing. I’ve caught him off guard.

  And I love every second of it.

  “Can I talk to you outside?” he says the minute I walk up to him, his teeth gritted. He looks upset, and I frown at him.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, my stomach suddenly knotting, some of my confidence melting away. I don’t know why he’s pissed, but I can see that he is.

  “Outside,” he repeats, and pushes past me, stalking out the front door.

  I follow him out, crossing my arms as soon as he spins to face me, his expression angry. “What the hell is wrong with you, Zach?” I ask sharply. “I haven’t seen you in days, and that’s your first response?”

  “What is this?” He waves a hand in front of me. “You don’t even look like you anymore.”

  “You don’t like it?” I challenge. I see his expression waver, and no wonder, because I know he likes it. The problem is, he likes it too much.

  Good. Let him feel the way I’ve felt all this time, fighting a desire that I barely even understand yet. Let him feel confused.

  “This is all Roni, isn’t it? I know you couldn’t have gone and gotten all this stuff yourself. Did she give it to you? Or is she teaching you to steal, too?”

  I falter. Zach’s reprimands aren’t something I’m prepared for. I wasn’t ready for him to accuse me of it.

  “You steal stuff,” I snap. It’s the only comeback I can think of. “You can’t deny it.”

  “You’re not like me, Rain!” he says, his voice full of exasperation as he runs his hands over his face.

  “This is all my fault. I should never have introduced you to them, or let Roni get her claws in you.”

  “I wanted you to bring me here! I want to be friends with her! I decided to go!” I resist the urge to stamp my foot angrily. “I made decisions. I’m not just some puppy that gets led around by everyone else!”

  “This isn’t the life for you!” Zach is almost yelling now. “I do all of this shit to keep you out of it, Rain, to keep you safe!”

  “Yes, I know, that’s all you ever want. All of this is to keep me safe. You steal, and drop out of school, and start fucking other girls, just so you can keep me safe—from the world and being poor and even you! It doesn’t matter what I want, as long as you feel like I’m safe! Well, you can’t protect me forever, Zach. I’m almost an adult, too. I don’t need to be kept in some box like I’m fragile. I want to have a life too! And”—I struggle to keep my voice from breaking—“I want that life to include you.”

  He takes a step closer to me, his mouth open to yell something else, but that step brings him within touching distance, and I see him hesitate. I see his eyes flick over my face, my hair, down to the cleavage of my dress, the short hem of my skirt.

  “Christ, Rain,” he whispers. “Don’t you see what you’re doing to me?”

  “Don’t you know what you’ve been doing to me this whole time?” I say, my voice still harsh. “You’re my friend, Zach, my best friend. But we could have more. We could have everything.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, his lips pressed hard together, and when he looks away, I feel my heart sink.

  It feels like nothing will ever change.

  The door opens, and Jade walks out. Zach abruptly turns away from me, not meeting my sad eyes or Jade’s irritated ones.

  I feel sorry for him in this moment, torn between what he wants and what he thinks he deserves. But not sorry enough to stop what I’m doing. Because it feels like I’m taking control of my life for the first time.

  I have to keep figuring out who I am. For me.

  Chapter 23

  Rain

  Present day

  A week after I get back from the visit, my mother calls. “Your father is in rehab,” she says over the phone, and I can hear the relief in her voice. “He left this morning. That money you gave…it really helped.”

  “I don’t want your life to be so hard, Mom. You work all of the time. You should be able to relax, too. You shouldn’t have to do everything.”

  “It’s just the way the cards fall for some of us,” she says resolutely.

  “Well, not anymore,” I say. “I’m going to help, okay?”

  “I just want you to make sure you’re putting som
ething away for yourself. I appreciate what you want to do, but I want you to be okay if…” She trails off, trying to say the right words.

  In case he gets tired of me. Cuts me off, leaves me where I started.

  “Mom, I’m not stupid. What I use to help you guys isn’t taking from me. It’d just be sitting there. And I’m making sure if things change that I’ll be okay,” I tell her, trying to sound as optimistic as possible. I already make a plan in my mind to set up automatic transfers for at least three thousand dollars to her every month.

  I hang up the phone with a feeling of profound relief, and some pride. I had two dreams when I left home—to become a working author, and to be able to take care of my family. I’m not anywhere near the first one yet—although with Vincent’s help, I’m closer than I’ve ever been to achieving it—but now I can do the second. It’s like a weight has been lifted off of me. How can I feel guilty about taking Vincent’s money and gifts when I can use it to help my family? My father will get better, my mother will be less stressed, her life can go back to normal—or even better than normal. I can help, and for the first time in a long time, I feel useful.

  Three thousand dollars is a big chunk of my money from my account, though, and the moment I think about it, I realize that maybe it’s time to pull the plug and move in with Vincent. My portion of the rent at my apartment is six hundred a month, plus utilities. I could put that in my savings. I’ve maybe spent two nights there in the last six months; when Vincent had been out of town on a trip and I’d celebrated Mallory’s birthday. He wasn’t thrilled about it, either, but I put my foot down—something I rarely do these days. I’ve become accustomed to Vincent’s requests and grand gestures, and also resigned to the fact that he ends up winning, no matter how much I argue. So I just don’t fight him anymore, and if I’m being honest, it feels good to not have to.

  So I give Mallory and Dena four months’ rent plus my share of the utilities, and let them know they can start looking for another roommate. At dinner tonight, I’ll tell Vincent that I will finally move in, for real. He is going to be thrilled, I just know it. We have a date planned at a new Asian fusion restaurant in the city, and I decide to buy something new for the occasion, something that I know he’ll love.

  I set out for the stores with a sense of excitement that is still new to me. It is a far cry from the early days of my relationship with Vincent, when getting me into new dresses and jewelry had meant sending someone to bring them to me so I couldn’t refuse. This morning, I throw on my favorite designer jeans and a cashmere sweater thrown on over it against the winter chill, and my favorite leather jacket with the fur-lined hood. I call an Uber, and in no time we are headed down towards one of my favorite boutiques.

  It’s nearly Christmas, and the streets are in full festivity mode—wreaths everywhere, a huge Christmas tree in the downtown center. Shoppers are out in droves. I remember for the first time that not only will it be the first major holiday that I’ll spend with Vincent—especially since I went to my parents’ for Thanksgiving—but it will be the first Christmas I won’t be going home. And on the heels of that, I realize that I’ve immediately assumed I will spend the holidays with Vincent. What’s more is it will be in our place, the home we share together. The newness of the idea sends a shiver of excitement and nervousness down my spine.

  The Uber drops me off near the boutique, and I nearly float down the sidewalk, feeling elated. Just picturing Vincent’s face when I tell him that I want to move in makes me break out in a grin.

  I try on several dresses before settling on one—a cranberry-red wrap dress with a plunging neckline and long sleeves. I go to the store next door and picked out new lingerie—a black lace teddy—and lastly, to one of my favorite small jewelers. This is the kind of person I’ve become, I think, as I step through the door and the bell chimes. The kind of person who has a favorite jeweler.

  The proprietor, a small old man with a slight stoop and a permanent mischievous smile, greets me as I walk in. “Poppy!” he exclaims, and I wince slightly.

  “It’s Rain,” I remind him. Vincent is usually with me when we shop, and he insists on calling me by my nickname everywhere. The old man has latched onto it, and can’t for the life of him seem to remember my actual name.

  “Morning, Mr. Dewitt,” I say cheerfully and glance at the jewelry cases. “Anything new that I might like?”

  In a matter of minutes, he has a selection out for me on the counter, and I peruse the options. Finally, I choose a pair of ruby and diamond earrings—round diamonds dangling from a rose-gold post, connected to emerald cut rubies below that by a thin rose-gold chain—and a thick rose-gold band studded with rubies and diamonds for my right hand. I hand him the heavy black credit card that Vincent had opened for me and then head to the salon, where I had scheduled a blowout, fresh nails, and a wax.

  Vincent has to work late, so I meet him at the restaurant after going home to get ready. I walk through the restaurant to the table reserved for us at the back of the dimly lit room, and I can feel every man’s eye on me as I pass by. Since I’ve started dating Vincent, he’s signed me up for a very well-known and expensive spin club, as well as twice-weekly sessions with a personal trainer, and it’s more than paid off. I’ve never been chubby, but the transition to adulthood paired with the terrible diet typical of someone in their late teens/early twenties had left me with some pudge in places that I didn’t want it in. But in the last six months, I’ve transformed from a slightly awkward, skinny-fat girl into a sleek, fit, sophisticated woman. And I owe it all to Vincent. I plan on showing him how grateful I am for it all tonight.

  I hold a sneaky grin to myself as I approach the table and watch his eyes skim over me greedily, his face lighting up, and I can’t help but think how lucky I am.

  “Poppy!” he exclaims, standing up and embracing me, his lips brushing over my cheek and the edge of my jaw. I arch against him slightly. I hear him chuckle, and his fingers skim over the curve of my waist. “You look so good, I can fuck you right here,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Wait until you see what I have under it,” I whisper in return, and I hear him make a low noise in his throat.

  “I ordered sake,” he says as we sit down. “And some appetizers to start.”

  “I’m sure I’ll like whatever you chose,” I say smoothly as I reach for my glass of water. “But I have a surprise for you, Vincent.”

  “Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m used to doing the surprising.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” I start slowly. “I think that it’s been long enough, and I am hardly ever at my old apartment anymore. I think it’s time for me…I mean…I’d like to move in, Vincent. If that’s still what you want.”

  His expression is one of total glee. He reaches across the table and grasps my hands, squeezing them both in his. “This is the best gift you could have given me, Poppy. I’m so happy. Of course I still want that! You should start moving your things in tomorrow.”

  “I’m giving Mallory and Dena sixty days’ notice, so there’s no rush,” I say quickly. “But I’ll start packing tomorrow after work, I promise. I can’t wait to live with you.”

  “I can’t wait to live with you either, baby,” he says, smiling broadly. “Just think how wonderful it’s going to be.”

  And I do think about it, for the rest of our dinner as we eat braised octopus and butter-tender sashimi pieces and tempura-fried shrimp in a sweet and spicy sauce—and then think some more on the way home. How lucky I must be to have a man who spoils me so much, who gives me anything my heart desires, who gives me access to money and luxury and things I could never have dreamed for myself. All because I was caught shoplifting one day, and he wanted to help.

  I make up my mind to set up the direct deposit for my mom. And, as I lay in bed beside Vincent, the black teddy puddled on the floor, I wonder what will come next. What does our future look like now that our relationship is solidified?

  Chapter 24

&nb
sp; Rain

  Three years earlier

  For the first writers’ group meeting, I wear the high-waisted stonewashed jeans that Roni picked out, and a soft teal top that ties just above it, showing a little of my flat stomach whenever I move. As I ride my bike to the library, I try to push Zach out of my head—wondering what he’s doing, if he’s with Jade.

  This is for me.

  The room in the library is already full when I walk in. Marcus catches sight of me as I step inside, and his dark eyes light up as he crosses to meet me. “Rain!” he calls out. “I’m so glad you made it.”

  “I’m glad I did too.” I glance shyly at him, taking in his appearance. He’s wearing black jeans and a tight white t-shirt with a dark denim shirt thrown over that, and as he smiles broadly at me, I feel butterflies in my stomach.

  I try my best to ignore it, taking a seat. I set down the heavy laptop that I checked out from the front desk of the library, and when the bowl of writing prompts comes around, I pick one out.

  “Alright, guys. Five thousand words based on the prompt you just pulled. You might not get it all done today, but that’s fine. Just do what you can. And write however you want. Outline first or don’t, write in a straight line, write pieces of it—it doesn’t matter. Just get something down on paper. Doesn’t matter what it is.” Marcus looks around at the group. “And…go!”

  For a while, there’s absolute silence in the room except for the clicking of keys and the scratch of pen on paper. I’m several pages in when the chair next to me pulls out, and Marcus sits down.

  “Hey,” he says, smiling. “Can I see what you’ve got?”

  I flush, feeling nervous, but angle my laptop towards him anyway. “Sure,” I mumble, certain that he’s going to say it’s garbage. The prompt I pulled was one for a crime novel, which is a genre I don’t really read and never even thought about writing. But as Marcus reads the first few paragraphs, his eyebrows go up, and I see him nodding.